


Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the anonymous prompt: "I would like to request a fluffy Wincest ficlet."<br/>Anniversaries, gifts, happy kisses and fumbling!sentimental!Dean are fluffy enough, right? Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/51241137938/theyd-never-settled-on-an-anniversary-it-seemed">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

They’d never settled on an anniversary. It seemed pointless and kind of impossible to choose an official date for the start of everything, when in reality it had begun long before either of them had realised. Sam and Dean had always been each other’s, and that was just a fact.

Technically, of course, there was a date, a specific three-part black-and-white date that marked when it all finally came to a head. When they finally gave into the suffocating need for each other, finally gave up struggling against the pull of the current and just let it happen; when Sam finally grabbed Dean after an intense, close-shave hunt and kissed him instead of hugged him, kissed him stupid and never stopped because Dean didn’t let him.

Sam knew the date, but he acknowledged it quietly in his head when one month had passed, two, six. He never mentioned it to Dean. Similarly to a lot of facets of this aspect of their relationship, it was unspoken; just as they didn’t have to _ask_ to kiss or touch or bite or fuck, simply met each other’s eyes and knew, it followed that they equally didn’t have to point out the milestones they’d passed together to appreciate that they’d passed them.

There was also the fact that he was pretty convinced Dean would freak out if Sam tried to celebrate something as apple-pie as an anniversary, so he just. Didn’t bother. It’s not like he minded at all. He had Dean, he knew Dean loved him, and that was all he needed. He’d never even _had_ an anniversary with anyone before, so he couldn’t miss out on something he’d never had, anyway, right?

(Except, y’know, sometimes, he wondered what it would be like.)

(And sometimes, maybe, he felt like he was missing out.)

(But whenever that happened, he would remind himself that this was Dean, and that it was stupid to hope for something like that from him, and equally stupid to be put out over it when he had so much to be glad for.)

So, whatever, okay. Sam knew when it was _that day_. October 6th. The biggest one yet; one whole year. Knew it had already started when they crashed into their motel bed at past 1AM, knew it was still rolling on when he woke to the early morning light streaming through the cheap curtains, filtering through enough to drag him out of sleep.

He flailed an arm out to his side, expecting to contact a sleepy Dean and earn himself a grunted expletive, but instead only encountered an empty space in the air and a spot that was faintly warm with slowly ebbing body heat. Sam cracked his eyes open and frowned. It wasn’t like Dean to be awake before him; sure, it was usually Dean who smacked him through the covers and husked out some variation of, “Morning, sunshine,” or, “Up and at ‘em, tiger,” but Sam was usually only feigning sleep ‘cause he was fond of hearing what Dean would say to wake him that day.

“Dean?” he called out, voice scritching in his throat a little, but he was answered with silence. There was no hint of the spray of the shower, no shampoo bottle hitting the floor and Dean’s barely-dialled down cursing. Sam sat up, running a careless hand through his hair and trying not to feel disappointed, reminding himself that really, this was just another day.

Right at the moment that an uncomfortable prickle of worry began to tug at his instincts, his eyes landed on a scrap of paper left on the bedside table at Sam’s side of the bed. He picked it up, and Dean’s scrawled, all-capitals script blared at him: _SAMMY : STORE. BACK SOON._

Sam sighed and then nodded decisively. Just another day. He swung himself out of bed, he showered, he dressed, he researched their case with little real commitment. It was never as fun nor as easy when Dean wasn’t there to babble at.

When Dean eventually walked in a couple of hours later, Sam was hunched over the laptop, head propped up by one hand, and he flickered a half-smile at Dean. “Hey. You were a while.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean hedged, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it in an infuriatingly untidy heap on the bed that Sam had made so nicely. Sam raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to finish, because he seemed a little off-kilter, a little... well, if it wasn’t Dean, Sam might even say _nervous_. “I didn’t go to the store.”

Sam pursed his lips, confused. “Uh... okay?”

“Well,” Dean went on as Sam noticed that the very tips of his ears were turning pink, “I did, technically, but not, like, the _store_ store. I went to _a_ store. So. I guess... yeah.”

“Right,” Sam replied slowly, watching him with amusement tugging at his lips. He pushed out the chair from the little table he’d set the laptop up at, sitting back and surveying Dean with an even mix of confusion and pure glee at seeing him so obviously flustered about something. “Do you wanna, like, elaborate? Or... am I s’posed to just guess what the hell you’re talking about?” he laughed.

“Later.” Dean seemed to pull himself together a little and flashed Sam a trademark Winchester grin. “I’ll elaborate later. So, you dig anythin’ up?”

Sam paused, feeling a little whiplashed, but he shrugged it off because he already knew his brother was weird as all hell, so this was really nothing to puzzle over. If there was one thing he’d learnt about Dean – there were a lot more than just one thing, but that was beside the point – it was that he’d always come when he was good and ready, so Sam resolved to leave it alone until that happened. “Uh, yeah, maybe. C’mere, take a look at this,” he said, turning the laptop around, and Dean did.

***

‘Later’ turned out to be around 10PM that evening, after a tiring day filled with dead-end interviews with dully unhelpful witnesses, long drives for nothing and a failed salt-and-burn resulting in a girl almost dying and Dean suffering a few gashes to his neck and chest fending off their stubborn spirit. He’d insisted it was fine, that it looked worse than it was, but still Sam bandaged him up in the Impala and made him lie back in the passenger seat while he drove them back.

In all honesty, with all the hassle of the day, Sam had forgotten there was even anything to be elaborated on. He got Dean inside with more help than Dean thought necessary, then when Dean shrugged him off, he flopped down to sit on the edge of their bed, legs hanging off the edge. It was only when Dean stayed hovering across the room near the door, cleared his throat and said, “Sammy,” all low and hesitant that it clicked.

“Elaboration?” Sam guessed with an expectant smile.

“I... yeah,” Dean said, “I guess,” and there was a kind of sincerity to his tone that wiped the smile off Sam’s face, so Sam just nodded, an odd fluttering feeling in his chest.

“Okay,” he replied simply.

Dean huffed out a sigh that puffed out his cheeks comically and shaped his lips into a perfect ‘o’, and he dragged a hand quickly over his mouth before he blurted out, “I wanted to do something.”

He paused, then, and Sam just waited for him to realise that that wasn’t enough information to make any sense.

“For you,” Dean added, and Sam’s eyes widened just a little.

“You do things for me all the time,” he pointed out softly, because he’d often thought that Dean didn’t quite see exactly how much he _did_ do for Sam every day, even by just being plain, imperfect Dean.

“Yeah, right, but... especially today.” Sam’s mouth dropped open slightly. Oh.

“Dean—“

“Just, okay, just let me,” Dean struggled, and Sam zipped his lips, still staring at Dean from his position on the end of the bed, Dean having not once moved from his spot. “You’re everything to me, Sammy, you know that, right?”

Sam nodded almost immediately, a single sharp jerk of his head.

Dean bit his lip distractedly and mumbled, “I don’t think I say it enough. But you are. And every day I wake up and it’s like, hey, holy shit. Because you’re still there and you’re choosing to fall asleep next to me and wake up there the next day, and that’s...” he trailed off, a faint blush seeping into his face, and he cleared his throat, all gruff and manly. “And I know you think I don’t know what today is, but.” He smiled and raised his arms at his sides a little, like, _well, here you go._

“You didn’t have to do anything, it’s... it’s not important,” Sam murmured, a little breathless, a little giddy, and Dean grinned and shook his head.

“Nah, it’s important to you.” He started to walk towards Sam ( _finally_ , Sam thought, because he kind of just wanted to kiss him pretty much all over right then, but he guessed that was going to have to wait), and he had one hand jammed deep into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Close your eyes, princess,” he muttered once he was close enough to card a hand through Sam’s hair, Sam gazing up at him all adoring and soft.

Sam rolled his eyes before letting them fall shut like Dean had ordered, and there was a few seconds of nothing before he felt careful, practiced lips brush his own, felt Dean’s nose bump against his own.

Sam laughed in surprise, and when Dean whispered, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Sam could practically hear the smirk in his voice. He kept his eyes closed, though, and as Dean pulled back, a mystery weight fell into Sam’s lap. “Okay, open ‘em up,” Dean told him, and Sam did, looking down to see a rectangular package wrapped messily in some tabloid newspaper. He’d inexplicably found ribbon from somewhere and tied it around, and Sam felt his heart soar already.

Now on his knees in front of Sam to be eye-level with him, Dean nudged him to hurry it up, but when Sam swept his eyes over his brother’s face, he could see the tiny flicker of anxiety in his eyes, so blatantly concerned with how Sam was going to react. Sam was pretty sure he was going to love it whatever it was. He carefully untied the ribbon and ripped off the newspaper, letting out a tiny gasp when he revealed the dark burgundy cover of a book. It was embossed with the words ‘Peter Pan’, and the pages gilded with gold. “Dean, it’s. I love it,” he breathed, turning wide, shining eyes on his brother.

“S’a first edition,” Dean grunted, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Uh. I don’t exactly know what that means, but... the guy said it like it was a good thing, so.”

Sam laughed a little, tracing the raised letters of the cover with reverent fingertips. Peter Pan. It had been one of his favourites growing up, and Dean used to read it to him at night after their dad grew too drunk and too tired and too obsessed to concentrate on things like that, right up until they’d lost the book between one state and another. Sam had been inconsolable for days, and Dean had had to recite snippets of it from memory. Like so many other things, neither of them needed to remind each other of the significance; it was better left unsaid.

“You like it?” Dean asked, his tone casual but Sam recognised the wary, vulnerable look on his face.

“Of course I do, you idiot,” Sam answered indignantly, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and tugging, kissing him hard and fast enough to catch him off-guard. “It’s perfect. Dude, how did you even--?”

Dean shrugged, uncharacteristically bashful. “Spotted it, uh, a few months ago. We were a few towns over from here, remember?” Sam did. “Yeah, well. I asked the guy if I could reserve it, ‘cause it was the only one, and he said no, so I kinda scraped a bunch’a cash together an’ paid him. A lot. So he kept it and I drove over and picked it up this morning.” He grinned. “And we all lived happily ever after.”

“Damn right we did,” Sam said, and Dean kissed him again.

“So, uh. Happy anniversary, I guess.” The words were almost too quiet to be heard, but Sam picked up on them, he got it. Then Dean flicked his eyes down to his watch and sadly muttered, “I’m a little late, though.”

Sam frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“The time,” Dean explained, even though that didn’t explain at all. Sam sighed exasperatedly.

“What about it, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it, ducking his head. “Uh, it was. When we first... when you kissed me. The first time, after that case in Colorado. It was 10:02 at night.” He sighed. “I was gonna give you that at the same time tonight, but. I missed it by a couple minutes.”

Sam stared at him in pure shock, because of all the things he was expecting, that was definitely not one of them. “You actually remembered the time?” he asked softly, touched.

Coughing a little, Dean replied falteringly, “Well, y’know, it’s no big deal, s’just coincidence – I happened to look at my watch right before you did it, and it just kind of... stuck.”

Sam felt his face split into a ridiculously wide grin, his whole body feeling lit up with happiness because he didn’t think... well, he’d thought Dean cared, yeah, but not like that. Sharing this kind of crap with him wasn’t for Dean’s benefit – Sam could see the amount of effort it took, how far out of his comfort zone it was – it was for Sam’s, and that meant the world.

A slightly exaggerated smirk unfolded on Dean’s face and he murmured, “Listen, little brother, if you’re gonna get all teary-eyed over this...”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sam cut him off, laughing even as he thumped Dean in the arm. “Such an asshole.”

Dean clutched dramatically at his own chest. “Dude, your words. They hurt.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam ran a hand over the cover of the book again and said, “I... I didn’t get you anything,” feeling kind of like the worst person on earth.

Dean brushed it off immediately, shaking his head with a, “S’okay, Sammy,” as he shoved Sam backwards so he fell unceremoniously onto his back on the mattress and crawled up after him. He braced himself above Sam with a hand either side of his shoulders and kissed him slowly.

“But—“ Sam protested, muffled by Dean’s mouth on his.

“Don’t need anythin’ else from you, _nothing_ ,” Dean muttered fiercely, pulling back just enough to say it clearly, lips brushing Sam’s. “Just... y’know. Just you. More than enough,” and even though Sam still made a mental note to sneak out tomorrow and get _something_ , he smiled contentedly into the kiss.

“One year,” Sam sighed, carefully minding Dean’s bandages as he rolled them over and gazed down at him.

Dean shook his head. “Nah, Sam. Not really. Y’know it’s been a hell of a lot longer than that.”

“Yeah? How long?” Sam asked, even though he knew all too well.

“Gonna make me say it?” Dean groaned, sighing a little. “Forever, you oversized dork. Always. Now shut up and make out with me.”

Sam grinned happily down at him, and did as he was told.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!  
> PS - yes, the title is taken from Peter Pan, that is an actual thing that I did.


End file.
